Broken Memories
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: Vash sometimes dreamed very vividly. Such dreams, if they came from memories, could temporarily eclipse all later memories. Had that just happened? Or... was the narrow escape he remembered what was real and recent, making this comfortable room nothing more than a dream - as insubstantial and temporary as the faint moonlight?
1. Unfamiliar

**Note** : _I do not own Trigun / Vash "the Stampede": he belongs to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **"Broken Memories"**

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 **Chapter 1: Unfamiliar**

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Date: _Unknown  
_ Location: _Unknown_

Vash's eyes snapped open. He was sitting rigidly upright, drenched with sweat, and breathing very heavily... as if he'd just been running for a considerable distance while in fear for his life. Adrenaline pulsed through his body. He found himself shaking, partly from the excess adrenaline, and partly from continuing the necessary internal efforts to completely contain his emotions.

It would not do to broadcast his feelings to Knives. That could have grave consequences, which he currently felt ill equipped to face. He could not afford to be sloppy with his self-control, not now.

Wait, _what...?_

He was sitting on a bed, in a darkened room.

His last memory was of being on the open desert, seriously injured and fleeing from a town whose people (with few exceptions) would have delighted in destroying him. He didn't know where he was now, nor did he have any idea of how he might have arrived there. He had no means of knowing if he had been recaptured by individuals wishing to take his life, or if he'd somehow found a temporary haven where he could recover safely.

The latter seemed more likely, but appearances could be deceiving.

He reached for his revolver, but it wasn't strapped to his thigh. Nor did he find it under the pillow, where he often put it when he slept. Had it been taken from him?

He brushed hair out of his face, and a shudder moved through him. Some of his hair had fallen between his eyes and the dim moonlight, so it had appeared black. That was probably only an illusion. He desperately hoped it was only an illusion!

If his hair _had_ changed, it meant he was running low on Plant energy. He would die if he used it all. Plants should live for several hundred years, at least. If his hair had already turned black, and Knives had not yet abandoned his goal of destroying all humans...

Vash firmly reminded himself that panic would accomplish nothing. Either hair-blackening events had occurred, or else they had not. If, God forbid, his hair _had_ turned black, then he would deal with it. He didn't need to start jumping at shadows, especially not when there might be more immediate concerns. He clenched his jaw and mentally pushed aside all of the many worries which would accompany significant amounts of his hair turning black.

In the space of time between two heartbeats, Vash quickly looked around the place where he found himself. He absorbed and assessed every detail as soon as he saw it.

In front of him, beyond the foot of the bed, he could barely distinguish the shape of a dresser. Left of it was a doorway with a door nearly closed, but not latched. A dim light shone on that door from the other side, faintly illuminating its outline. The same dim light informed him of a narrow strip of stained glass windows in that wall near the ceiling.

Left of his bed was a nightstand, with a lamp and a small clock displaying a softly glowing "1:14 am." A very dim band of colored light fell across the wall beyond it at about knee-height. From the light shining on the wall to his left, he could distinguish both the double doors of a closet and another partly open door. Through it, he saw a recognizable shape: a toilet. On the floor, between the closet and the bathroom door, was his duffel bag. The shape partly emerging from the top of his bag might be his gun belt.

Behind him was a solid wall, shrouded in darkness.

To his right, a large plain-glass window occupied the middle of an external wall. Its panes could be opened, but were currently closed. Faint, pale moonlight poured through sheer curtains, between heavier drapes that efficiently blocked both light and sight. A narrow strip of stained glass windows glowed dimly, up by the ceiling. Those windows were the source of the knee-high band of colored light on the left wall.

Since the moonlight was so very dim, only one, or perhaps two, of the smaller moons could possibly be in the sky. Otherwise, the moonlight would be considerably brighter. That dim moonlight spilled through the large window, across a wide bench placed directly under it, across the floor between the bench and the bed, and across most of the bed upon which he sat.

He did not recognize anything he saw around him, except for his duffel bag.

With his initial assessment complete, he briefly considered the bed.

The pillows were in deep shadow, but the rest of the double-width bed was faintly illumined. The blankets and quilt were rolled away from his side of the bed, resting on the other side. Nobody was sleeping on the other side, and the manner in which the blankets were laid across it suggested that nobody was expected to sleep there.

There was a measure of relief in that.

Usually, there was something comforting about knowing someone else was living and breathing in the same room. Partly because of that, sometimes he would cut costs by splitting the rent on a hotel room with a chance companion (after verifying that the man had neither amorous intentions nor expectations). He preferred a two-bed room when sharing expenses, but sometimes none of the two-bed rooms was available.

Although Vash craved companionship almost as much as he craved food, there were times when solitude was best. At the moment, he vastly preferred to be alone. Until he learned or remembered where he was (and under what circumstances), it was better to be alone than to be among others with unknown intentions.

So... he was alone in a bedroom with a bathroom attached, and another doorway connecting to who knew where. To his frustration, examining his surroundings had not answered any of the questions plaguing his mind.

He still had no idea where he was... or when.

Was it still the star year 0064, when he was 104 years old and not far from Tonim Town? Or had some forgotten amount of time passed, leaving him older and elsewhere?

He focused his attention on his other senses for a few heartbeats.

He could hear his own ragged breathing, and his slightly accelerated heartbeat. He could also hear the whirring of fans, and the soft whisper of circulated air. Since there wasn't enough air movement to suggest a breeze, it seemed unlikely that the door led outside. A hallway, or perhaps another room, must be on the other side of that door.

He could smell the stench of his own sweat, in addition to the fainter fragrances of laundry soap and spices. There were also lingering aromas of food, especially bread. Fainter still were scents of the desert, and, if he wasn't imagining it, hints of grass and sand-powder as might be inhaled at (or near) Seeds Village.

Seeds... he ached with longing at the thought of the nearest thing to a "home" he'd known since the ships fell. Firmly, he pushed aside those emotions, too. The last thing he recalled was being hunted. Until he knew beyond all reasonable doubt that he'd shaken off all pursuit, he dared not return to Seeds. He must never lead any trouble back to that secluded, peaceful community.

Besides, if he were at Seeds, he should be either in the infirmary or else in the crew quarters. He clearly wasn't in the infirmary, though his last known condition might have put him there. Crew quarters contained multiple bunk beds, unlike this room with its solitary double bed.

He might be near Seeds, though. A capricious wind might have blown those scents across many iles of desert to whatever town he was really sitting in.

Everything around him seemed peaceful. He began to relax, just a little.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he detected a movement to his left. He tensed, and began lifting his prosthetic... until he realized that the movement was only the clock changing its display from "1:14 am" to "1:15 am."

He relaxed again, and looked down at himself. He was wearing a loose-fitting sleeveless top made of a thin fabric, and pajama bottoms with a drawstring waist made of a fabric only slightly less thin than his top. A crumpled sheet was draped somewhat haphazardly across his hips, legs and feet... details consistent with the temperature of the room.

It had been summer when he crawled away from Tonim. It felt like summertime temperatures now, also.

His shoulders and right arm were covered with scars. Some of those scars were familiar, but others were not. He moved his unfamiliar prosthetic left arm experimentally. It obeyed his wishes smoothly. Seeds villagers had generously provided him with a prosthetic arm to replace the arm that Knives had cut off. However, this synthetic arm didn't match his memories of their gift. It responded slightly better than he recalled, too.

Puzzling.

He un-tucked the waist-hem of his sleeveless top, pulled up the lower part of that garment, and looked under it. He found many more scars on his torso. Some of those scars he knew all too well, but others were entirely unknown. He looked curiously at an assortment of closed scars that he had expected would be fresh wounds, possibly even still bleeding.

With his right forefinger, he gingerly touched one of the places that he'd expected might still be bleeding or, at best, barely scabbed over. It proved to be a closed scar by touch as well as by sight. It wasn't even particularly sensitive, as if it were only very recently healed. He experimentally touched an older, very familiar scar. He also ran his fingertips along a completely unknown scar. All of them yielded the same results of solid though uneven skin to his fingertips. His body sensed areas that were either under-sensitive or oversensitive when he touched them, yet all well within what was normal for older scars. He released the hem of his top, and let it fall back down to its original position.

If he wasn't imagining it, his body might be slightly more muscular than he remembered. From the last things he could recall, he should instead have been somewhat emaciated from hunger, and... other hardships. Neither his stomach nor his body had that nearly-starved feeling, as would be expected if it were only a short while after leaving Tonim Town. His stomach was emptier than he preferred, since he never knew when he might need extra energy to evade a bounty hunter...

Whoa, where did _that_ idea come from? Was he imagining ... or remembering ... that the Sheriff of Tonim Town would put a price on his head, from still disbelieving that he hadn't been one of those who had so severely harmed that woman and the children?

Vash frowned slightly, in puzzled concentration. His most recent memories were of a very narrow escape. He knew that sufficiently painful or alarming situations had a nasty habit of replaying themselves in one's dreams. Sometimes such dreams could temporarily eclipse all later memories, resulting in time confusion.

Was that what had just happened? Was his mind temporarily locked in the past? If so, his other memories should return shortly. All he need do was wait.

Or... was that narrow escape what was real and recent, while this clean and comfortable room was only a dream?

He tensed again, when the clock silently updated its display to "1:16 am." He reached out and moved the clock enough that he hoped it would not startle him again.

He shook his head, but that didn't accomplish anything except for creating a need to push hair out of his face again. That hair seemed longer than it ought to be... he pushed the thought aside, determined to avoid getting distracted by anomalies with his hair.

His stomach gurgled, but he ignored it also. There was too much to think about, and he didn't know where he might find any food that he could eat without trouble following.

He briefly considered verifying if it truly was his gun belt in the top of his bag, but he chose to wait. Creaky flooring might inform others that he was awake.

He had felt an unfamiliar scar, both with his fingertips and with his body. He could feel the clothing he wore, and the fabric of the sheets. Every detail seemed completely realistic and consistent.

However, Vash already knew that he sometimes dreamed very vividly. Pinching himself would do no good, for his subconscious mind knew how that should feel. It would supply the necessary sensation, whether he was awake or asleep and dreaming. He must find some other means to determine what was real, and what was dream.

The idea of acquiring more scars was a reasonable extrapolation, if his life continued as it had been going since he'd parted from Knives. This room, and his current condition, might merely be his subconscious mind calculating probabilities and suggesting a possible future outcome... if he survived his last known situation.

He'd been in sufficiently poor condition when he left Tonim Town that he would have needed to find a safe place to recover. Could this be where he'd gone? Or was it merely a pleasant dream of safety, while he slept and bled on the desert sands?

Vash lay backward and rested on the bed. Something gleamed faintly near the center of the ceiling, briefly catching his attention. It was probably just a reflection of the moonlit areas of the room from a shiny spot in a light fixture.

He could not currently see or hear anyone nearby. At this hour, most people would be asleep and expecting him to be the same. This should provide him with a little time to himself. Perhaps thinking things over would assist him in remembering where he was, and under what conditions he had arrived here.

He slowly forced himself to calm in both body and mind. He closed his eyes and compelled his mind wander backward. His thoughts returned to the beginning of the most recent situation he could remember...


	2. Last Known

**Note** : _I do not own Trigun / Vash "the Stampede": he belongs to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **WARNING** : _This chapter contains some seriously intense content, which makes it borderline between a "teen" rating or a "mature."_

 _It includes references to how Vash may have been given some of his scars. No precise details are offered, but there is enough information to give a general idea of what he might have suffered._

 _If subject matter about "man's inhumanity toward man" is not a thing you wish to read, then please feel free to skip over this chapter and continue with Chapter 3. None of the other chapters contain such intense / dark content as this one does._

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 **"Broken Memories"**

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 **Chapter 2: Last Known**

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Date: _Star year 0064  
_ Location: _Tonim Town and surrounding areas_

He'd been thinking about how being a Plant came with both advantages and disadvantages. His senses were slightly keener than those of an ordinary human. His metabolism worked more swiftly, which meant that he healed faster and that he must work much harder to get truly drunk... and that he recovered from any drunkenness far more quickly (except for the headache and nausea). However, it also meant that he needed food and water oftener. Especially water.

He received some strength from sunlight and from fresh air, allowing him to endure when food was scarce, but his need for water slightly exceeded that of ordinary humans. Whether humans knew it or not, he was well aware that alcohol did not assist when one was in need of hydration. Water, juice or even milk was better.

In private, he sometimes chose milk over other beverages for its nutritional values. However, he grew weary of other men's insults, and sometimes even attacks, when he drank it in public. If he really needed hydration, though, and nothing wetter was available, he'd drink milk (even in public) and ignore the embarrassment as best he could. If hecklers insisted on escalating the situation into a fight, he'd dodge and run.

Food could be processed into small tablets or wafers that gave a body (either ordinary human or Plant) all the nutrients that were necessary for life. Such tablets or wafers might not do much for the palate or the digestive system, but they kept one's body functional at need. Water, however, could not be condensed so conveniently. Water had weight and bulk, and there was no known method for reducing either. This created limits to how many filled canteens any one lone man could carry.

Vash had been walking for weeks, and his supply of water had nearly run out. He'd been forced to ration it, only allowing himself to drink the bare minimum he needed to survive... which was far less than he craved. The summer heat was making his lack of water even more difficult to bear.

He was weary, and he'd begun stumbling. So, instead of walking straight for Tonim, he'd detoured to a rock formation located about two hours' journey (on foot) from that town. He knew those rocks contained a moderate-sized cave. He'd hoped to rest in the cooler shelter of its shade through the worst heat of the day, and then resume his journey when the external air grew cooler. He could use some sleep, anyway. Recently, he hadn't rested well. Between that and the shortage of water, he was far more weary than usual.

Unfortunately, when he entered that cave, all thoughts of rest were completely driven away. Thirteen untidy bedrolls, scattered around the cavern, clearly indicated that someone else had found the place and was using it. Worse, there were four shapes in the back which strongly suggested someone in need of help.

Vash hurried to the back of the cave, and then gasped and wept at what he saw.

"Oh no," he said softly.

A woman and three young children, all of whom were badly bruised from head to toe and even showed some open wounds, were lying on the ground. None of them was covered by as much as a single thread. Their hands were tied over their heads to metal spikes that had been driven into the cave's floor. Two more spikes were used to anchor ropes and bind the woman's ankles wide. The types of injuries that could be expected, from seeing how the woman was tied, were present in abundance... not only on her, but also on all three children.

Vash carefully began checking for their pulses, or any other signs of life. In his heart was a wordless silent prayer for their well-being. Sadly, for most of them, he came too late.

Three of the four were dead: the woman, a girl of about six or seven, and the boy who looked about five. The summer heat had prevented their bodies from cooling much, but that process had progressed far enough to be easily detectable to him.

Only the smaller girl, who looked about four, was still breathing shallowly. Her pulse was faint. She didn't react when he tried to wake her. He put down his bag, arranging it so that it was within his reach but not touching her.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Vash quickly moved to the nearest bedroll and snatched a blanket. He shook it out, snapping it hard, to make it as clean as possible. He returned to the young survivor's side.

He untied the poor child's hands. She whimpered softly as he lifted her just enough to pass the blanket underneath her. He fished the too-nearly-empty canteen out of his bag. He gently, yet swiftly, washed most of her worst injuries using the smallest possible amounts of water from his canteen and a piece of clean bandaging. He spoke soothingly to her as he worked.

He wept whenever she winced or cried out as he washed her. He could not bring himself to touch her where she had been the most severely abused. She had already received far too much contact there, from those who attacked her. He would let the doctors care for her more completely. He cast aside the piece of dampened bandage he'd used to wash her, which was no longer clean. He began pulling out rolls of clean bandaging from one of his coat's pockets.

Tears continued trickling down his face as he carefully applied strips of clean bandaging everywhere she was injured (including where he hadn't washed her). Then he tenderly wrapped her in the blanket, as one might wrap a newborn. Only her small, bruised face remained uncovered.

He gently eased her back onto the ground, and then quickly fetched another blanket. He used that second blanket to cover the three dead bodies. He wanted to do more for them, and he wanted to do something about the &*$#*^%s who had hurt her and the others. For the moment, however, his priority must be the survivor. If the townsfolk weren't coming to tend the dead and their killers by the time he left town, he would return here to bury the dead... and do something about their murderers.

He set aside the rage that threatened to take control when he thought of the ones who had attacked the woman and children, and returned to the surviving girl's side and knelt there. He gently lifted the child's upper body and cradled her in his left arm. Even with all his care, she whimpered again at the contact. He spoke soothingly to her again, and trickled a little of his precious remaining water into her mouth. She swallowed with difficulty, but drank all that he dared to offer her.

He knew that if anyone drank too much too quickly, when badly dehydrated (as seemed likely with his small patient, given all the other, more obvious, abuses she had suffered), it could sometimes harm instead of helping. So he was careful to give her only a little to drink. If her body didn't reject that, he could give more to her later.

He took only a small sip for himself before he closed the canteen, and returned it to his bag. The canteen had been low when he found her. After washing her and giving her a drink, it was nearly empty.

Without moving her, he carefully tied the drawstring of his bag into a loop, and slid that loop onto his right shoulder. Then he lifted the child in both of his arms. He lurched back to his feet, and turned toward the opening of the cave. Thankfully, none of its denizens had yet returned.

His weary muscles protested as he walked through the dry, slippery sands toward the town. He tried to walk carefully, mindful of the fragile burden he held in his arms. She was so weak! He tried to walk as smoothly as possible, to avoid jostling her and causing her any further pain. Yet his muscles threatened to rebel. His knees felt rubbery. He had to tread carefully, so that he did not stumble. His arm ached, and felt equally in danger of giving out as his legs did.

This child needed help, soon. He couldn't afford to wait until the suns set, when the air and the sands would be cooler. He needed to get her to town as swiftly as possible.

He prayed silently that neither arm nor legs would fail, for the child's sake.

His tears streamed unchecked, blurring the landscape. He knew that crying would dehydrate him further, but he couldn't make himself stop. When he thought of the poor child in his arms, and all that she had suffered at such a very young age... it made him cry harder.

Although the type of abuse had been different, its severity rivaled what had killed Tessla.

He blinked to clear his eyes of tears, and continued staggering toward the town. With nothing but his own determination to aid him, he slogged through the sand and made the best pace he could. Step by weary step, he worked his way toward Tonim.

He was occasionally compelled to pause and wet his mouth from his canteen. He also gave her a sip, each time he stopped. The water ran out before they reached the outskirts of the town.

Although the rocks were only about two hours' journey from the town if one walked briskly, he was unable to walk briskly. His weary footsteps moved more slowly. It took him nearly five hours, weary and burdened as he was, to reach the town.

Those were among the longest hours he had ever experienced, prior to that day.

When he finally reached the town, he approached the first person he saw.

"She's hurt," he said hoarsely. "Where's a doctor?"

"That way," the woman said, pointing. "Turn right after the saloon. There's a clinic about four buildings down that street, on the left."

"Thanks!" he said.

He wanted to run, but he feared that his leg muscles could not be trusted. He tried to walk faster. At least, there in the town, the streets were firm and reasonably flat. He followed the townswoman's directions and found the clinic.

"Help - emergency!" he said hoarsely to the nurse at the desk.

"What's the emergency?" the obviously bored nurse said. She was reading, and did not look up from her book when she spoke to him.

Seeing a water dispenser and disposable cups within reach, he quickly rested the child's lower body against the counter top and helped himself to a sip of the life-giving liquid. Satisfied that the taste yielded no cause for alarm, he gently pried the child's lips open and began slowly trickling water into her mouth.

"Please," he said, only slightly less hoarsely, "I found this child. She's hurt... help her!"

The nurse stood, and looked at the child. Her eyes widened when she saw the small bruised face.

"This way," she said firmly. She turned and walked through a door into a hallway.

He saw about one swallow's worth of water remaining in the cup. He downed it, threw away the empty water cup, and then followed the nurse toward an examination room.

"She needs more than bandages," he said, sadly, as they walked.

"We'll see about that," the nurse said frostily.

Perhaps the nurse hadn't liked having her reading interrupted. If so, he couldn't bring himself to care about that. The child's needs were far more urgent than the nurse's learning how the next paragraph in her book ended.

Where was the love for this poor, hurt child? Fresh tears welled up in his eyes at that thought.

When they entered the examination room, Vash obeyed her preemptory gesture and gently placed the child on the padded diagnostic table. He stepped back, compelled to lean against the wall. His body was beginning to tremble from being pushed so hard. Tears continued trickling down his face.

The nurse began unwrapping the blanket from around the little girl, who whimpered again.

When she saw the poor child more fully, the nurse snapped, "You get out of this room, _now_!"

"Okay," Vash said, puzzled by her sudden anger. "Please, take care of her. She didn't deserve this."

He staggered through the doorway, and then stumbled. Behind him, he could hear the nurse shouting for assistance. Her words began blurring together in his mind as more tears flowed. He pushed himself up (by leaning on the wall), and began slowly working his way back toward the front of the clinic.

He hadn't gotten very far before two burly men had roughly taken hold of his arms.

"What kind of a &*$#*^% _are_ you?" one of them said. "Worried your plaything won't survive, so you can't have any more fun with her?"

"No!" Vash said, startled, "It's not like that at all! I found her, by a dead woman and two dead children, in a cave about two hours' foot-travel to the southwest. There were thirteen bedrolls, but no attackers."

"Yeah, _sure_ you did," the other said in a threatening tone. "We'll just see what the Sheriff has to say about this..."

"Please, take care of her," Vash said wearily. "That's all that matters."

"Oh, we will... and we will _also_ 'take care' of _you_."

He had prior experience with that tone of voice. He knew that he wouldn't enjoy what followed. However, his imagination had not anticipated the severity of their reactions. From the mistaken notion that he had been the one (or at least among the ones) who had harmed that poor child, they began to punish him with a level of cruelty that rivaled what had befallen the little girl.

They shouted questions at him, but Vash didn't know any answers. He continued trying to tell them that he'd only found the girl. He had discovered her by the dead bodies of three others who had been abused to death. He had only found her and then brought her to town, hoping they would give her the medical care that she needed.

It had taken all of Vash's remaining strength to contain his emotions, so that Knives would not sense _anything_ of what was happening to him. If Knives ever sensed or suspected what was happening, he would come and slaughter everyone in the entire town without mercy... not just the ones who were hurting him. Knives would even kill that little girl whom Vash had labored to save.

Because of channeling all of his willpower into guarding his emotions, Vash had no energy that he could spend to resist when their methods caused screams to be wrenched from his throat.

They beat him, burned him, and cut at him, until he passed out. When he awoke, others were there to drag him off and do the same things again. And again. And again.

Vash lost all count of how much time was passing, while chained in that underground place. Its window was too small for him to see or feel the sunlight. He could tell if it was day or night, but not if it was the same day when he'd last passed out, or another.

When he lost consciousness and collapsed, they would unchain his wrists from the ceiling, re-chain his wrists together, wrap him in a sheet, and then throw him onto a bench in a small cell. Later, when they returned, they would tear the sheet off of him before dragging him out, swapping the chains, and starting at him again. He began to fake passing out, so that he could unwrap the sheet before his injuries bled into it and began to congeal.

Unfortunately, he couldn't quite prevent himself from groaning when he awoke. Thus, they always knew when he'd regained consciousness. With that one involuntary sound, he ended his own reprieve. They did not always wait for him to wake on his own.

Sometimes when he first awakened, before they started making him scream again, he managed to get out a question or two.

"Did you find the cave? The others who died should be buried... Aaaaaaah!"

"Did anyone try to catch the attackers? If nobody stops them, they might hurt someone else... Aaaaaaaaaaah!"

They never answered any of his concerns. After Vash was certain he'd tried asking every deputy he'd seen, he stopped.

It must have been at least four days later, because he recalled four times when it was night-dark, before he began hearing screams and groans from others besides himself. The moans and groans might come from other bunks within the same cell, or from another cell nearby. More prisoners resulted in fewer men giving him their undivided attention, which was a relief. He couldn't tell, not for certain, if the periods of time when he was left unconscious grew longer. He suspected they might have.

He tried again to feign unconsciousness, to gain longer periods of rest. He would need his strength, when he found (or made) an opportunity to escape.

Unfortunately, even if they didn't see signs of consciousness, they would come and drag him off for more torture regularly. He gained a little time here, and a little time there, but it wasn't enough. He was losing ground physically, but he was far too well guarded to achieve escape. Yet.

He found it mildly surprising that they had never touched his face. He wondered about that, a few times. However, the combination of his weakened state, his exhaustion, and the need to keep his emotions and pain from reaching a volume level that Knives could "hear," prevented him from doing much thinking about other things.

More days and nights passed, filled with his own screams and those of others. He was given barely enough water to survive, along with very small bits of the foulest-tasting nutritional supplements in existence. It was enough to prevent his death, but not enough for true nourishment. He continued growing weaker, and not only from his wounds.

There was not yet any opportunity to attempt a quiet escape. A noisy escape was highly likely to fail. There were too many, and they were too careful. He resigned himself to endure the pain, patiently, until that changed.

Eventually, a day came when a reasonably clean shirt and trousers were put onto him. Before that, his captors had not even permitted him the dignity of underwear. They dragged him out of the jail and through the streets in his ill-fitting borrowed clothes. He was taken into a building, down hallways, and finally into a room.

He had become so weak that he could neither stand nor raise his head without assistance.

Someone took a fistful of his hair, and yanked his head up.

His eyes were blurry, from lack of sleep and from unshed tears caused by physical pain and weakness. He had to blink a few times before he could see reasonably clearly.

On a chair in front of him sat a woman holding a small girl. She held the child on her lap, with several thick towels between the girl's body and her lap. The girl's face and hands, the only parts of her body that were visible, showed many fading bruises.

The woman's face was similar to the girl's, suggesting a relative. Both had round faces and dark hair, with medium grayish eyes. It was difficult to tell, since she was sitting down, but it appeared as if the woman might be shorter than average. If so, he didn't know if she simply wasn't tall or if she was young and not yet grown into her full height.

As Vash recognized the little girl, he whispered, "Thank God you're better... ugh!"

The fierce punch to his gut would have doubled him over, if not for the fist still holding his head upright by his hair.

"Nobody gave you permission to talk, dirt bag," a threatening voice said in his ear.

Vash was silent. He tried to smile at the woman and child. His physical pain, and the mental strain to contain his emotions, took so much out of him... He had little left to use on reshaping his face into a smile for their benefit. He was sincere in his effort to smile, though he suspected that effort had imperfect results.

The little girl reacted much as any bashful child might, except for how tightly she and the woman held on to each other.

"Well, Meredith?" one of the deputies asked.

The woman shook her head.

Vash's pain-fogged mind slowly began to understand what was happening. They were trying to help the child identify her attackers. They had brought him before her as a suspect. That explained why his face was untouched. They had wanted him to remain recognizable, for this visit.

"Are you sure?" the other deputy said.

She looked thoughtful, and then she looked down at the little girl. She kissed the child's hair, and then looked back toward Vash and the deputies.

"I'm sure," she said softly. "She's not reacting to him like she did to the others."

They took him away, back to the jail. He considered attempting to escape, but he was simply not strong enough. Besides, there were too many townsfolk in the streets, including children. He knew he would fail, and other children might be hurt. So he allowed himself to be taken back to the jail without resisting. They tore off the clothes they had put on him, and put his wrists back into the suspended chains. He was beaten to unconsciousness again, but at least that time they didn't burn him or cut him as much.

To his surprise, sometimes when he awoke after that, they left him alone. He had become so weak that he was wavering in and out of consciousness, even without the torture.

He was frequently wakened when someone else was screaming, or when the deputies dragged someone else into or out of a cell to the torture room. He always noticed when a cellmate was brought or taken, but also sometimes when it was someone in a neighboring cell. He noticed at least five others being dragged out of the jail as he had been, or else when they were brought back. Sometimes he noticed when the deputies walked past without dragging anyone between them.

Of course, he _always_ noticed when they dragged him off to continue "taking care of him." Though he received less attention than formerly, they still beat, burned and cut his body with alarming regularity and thoroughness.

He was unable to regain enough strength to make any progress toward an escape... yet. As long as they wished to continue tormenting him, he didn't need to fear an execution.

Several days later, he was again taken before the woman and the recovering little girl. Her bruises were continuing to fade. Under the fading bruises, her skin was pale.

Again, the little girl looked bashful when she saw him.

"Do either of you know him?" one deputy asked.

Meredith whispered in the little girl's ear. Vash could hear her, though he knew her words were not intended for his ears.

"Meg, sweetie," Meredith whispered, "Do you know this man?"

Little Meg shook her head and buried her face against Meredith's shoulder.

Meredith looked up at the deputies and shook her head.

"All right," the deputy said gruffly. "Come on."

They dragged Vash back to the jail, grumbling.

"Kid doesn't remember you," one of the deputies said, as they locked Vash into a small single-occupant cell (after stripping him again). "She ain't backing your claim that you rescued her."

"How could she?" Vash said breathlessly, as he lay in (slightly exaggerated) weakness on the floor. "She was ... unconscious ... when I found her. She never ... woke up ... while I had her."

"Hmmph," the deputy said angrily.

He stood at the door while the other went and returned. Then, wordlessly, he unlocked the cell door just long enough for his fellow to throw in Vash's bag and set a bucket of water on the floor by the door.

"Thank you," Vash said sincerely.

The men only glared at him, and then walked away.

Vash crawled over to the bucket and examined the water. Satisfied that it showed no detectable signs of either significant impurities or poison, he drank a little. After that, he carefully scooted the bucket over to the bench that doubled as a bed. It felt farther than it was, mostly because of his weakened, malnourished condition. The pain from his many injuries exacerbated his exhaustion. He crawled back to drag his bag to the same place as the bucket.

Then he spent a very long time washing and bandaging himself, because he had to pause and rest so often during the process. Some of those pauses were for the benefit of deputies patrolling the hall outside his cell, but not all. He wrung out the dirty bandage scraps over the floor, or over himself (instead of the bucket), and cut fresh bits of bandaging to continue washing himself instead of re-immersing the dirty ones. He drank more clean water as he worked.

After applying bandages, he put on clothes. He drank more water, and then used most of the remaining water to refill his canteen. He put the lid on the canteen, and twisted it until it fit tightly. He put the canteen back in his bag, pulled the drawstring to close the mouth of his bag, and then crawled onto the bench. He lay there, awake but almost too exhausted to move except for breathing. He lay quietly and watched, through his cell's tiny window, as the sunlight began to fade from the sky outside. He couldn't help wincing every time he heard someone scream.

Just after dark, Meredith came. She stood outside of his cell, peering in and looking uncomfortable. She was indeed unusually short. But she didn't seem quite young enough to be so short only because she had not yet grown into her full height.

Vash managed to stand, briefly, by bracing himself with one hand against the wall. He stayed on his feet just long enough to nod politely. Then his knees gave way, and he half fell, half sat, back on the bench. He sagged backwards against the wall, hoping to drive home to another witness the idea that he was too weak to be any trouble. It wasn't entirely feigning, for he also hoped to avoid falling over until after she'd finished her visit.

He pushed aside feelings of frustration. He needed to rest and regain his strength, not spend what little strength he had on social pleasantries. Perhaps her visit would be brief.

The deputies passed by, dragging a prisoner toward the "interrogation" room. Vash couldn't help following their movements with his eyes. When they were out of sight, Meredith spoke.

"They tell me you're the one who brought little Meg back, and insisted that she get medical help," she said. "Is that true?"

"Yes," Vash replied. His voice felt raspy, but didn't sound as bad as it felt.

"Thank you," she said warmly.

"You're welcome," he said, blushing at the warmth in her voice, "though anyone else would do the same."

"Some would have run away," she said, "from being afraid of meeting the ones who hurt her." She paused, and then added more softly... and with a sideways glance, "Or they might run away from being afraid of how the local deputies might react."

"Did they catch the ones who hurt her?" Vash asked anxiously. "Others might get hurt, too, if those ... 'people' ... aren't caught."

"Most of them," she said. "Nine other suspects have been captured, and identified by Meg. But there were thirteen bedrolls. The Sheriff and deputies have taken turns waiting, so that the cave has never been unguarded since you brought Meg back. But nobody else has come near there. The other... four... might have realized something around the cave has changed, and left the area."

He could hear the clank and rattle of chains echoing up the hallway. He knew what that meant, but forced himself to focus his attention on his visitor. At the current moment, there was absolutely nothing he could do about the deputies' plans.

"Have they buried the others who were hurt, but didn't survive?" he said.

"They have," she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and continued, "My sister, son and eldest daughter are all resting peacefully in the graveyard now. We had their funerals two weeks ago, after the coroner had learned everything she could from their bodies."

"I'm sorry," Vash said sincerely, as a tear spilled down his cheek. "I wish I could have arrived sooner and prevented it, or at least helped the others..."

She wiped a tear off her face, and then looked perplexed. "I heard the local 'lawmen' haven't exactly been gentle with you," she said, sounding confused. "Yet you sit there and say to me that you're sorry?"

Both winced as a scream was heard echoing from farther down the hallway.

"I can't blame them for being angry," Vash said softly. "If none had survived, I would have buried their bodies and then stayed by the cave and waited for the ones who did it."

He closed his eyes. His tone grew grim as his brows drew down into a frown. "I don't know if I would have been much gentler with them than the deputies have been with me. I _hope_ that I would have brought them to the sheriff's office, but..."

Another scream echoed through the jail, interrupting his thoughts and causing his eyes to snap open again.

She quickly glanced in both directions, and then leaned forward until her face pressed against the bars. She was careful to keep her white blouse from touching the filthy bars.

"The deputies are still not convinced of your innocence," she said softly. "There has been talk of turning you loose, but then shooting you as 'an escaped prisoner'."

Vash looked at her more closely. "It almost sounds," he said slowly, "like _you_ might believe me?"

"The deputies have shown a different suspect to Meg every other day," Meredith said, looking away from him, "ever since the doctors said she had recovered enough. The lawmen want her to identify her attackers. She won't speak of what happened, beyond saying that 'bad men hurt her.' But we know who they are, because she immediately has a physical reaction... sometimes getting very sick... every time when she sees one of them."

"The poor child," Vash said, beginning to cry harder. "She shouldn't have to see them again, or at least not so soon!"

"I think they're trying to get it done," she said, "so we can all put it behind us."

Vash nodded silently, as tears continued streaming down his face.

"Meg asked me why they brought you, and not another 'bad man' who had hurt her," Meredith said softly. "She said that both times when they brought you. After this many days, she's grown almost accustomed to being forced to see them again. When she saw you, it confused her. She says you are not one of the ones who hurt her."

Vash tried to calm down, so he wouldn't be sobbing too hard to speak clearly.

"At least _she_ knows I didn't do it," he said wearily.

Another, longer scream echoed through the jail.

Vash winced.

"If they aren't careful," he said sadly, "they'll become like the ones who hurt Meg."

Meredith looked solemn for a moment. Then she said, "I'll be right back."

She returned bearing a ring laden with keys. She began trying the keys in his cell door's lock. She was careful, as she experimented, to prevent them from clanking.

Vash sat and blinked at her while she tried the first two keys. His mind was partially numbed from all that he had experienced since entering that cave... apparently, weeks ago. However, he still managed to connect the dots, even if those connections came together excessively slowly compared to what was usual for him.

"No," he said softly.

 _She shouldn't risk angering these men,_ he thought _. I don't like to imagine what they might do to her._

"I'm getting you out of here," she half-whispered tensely through her teeth. "I'm not interested in arguing about it."

"I've been on short rations," he said softly. "I'm too weak to stand, walk or run. Please, don't risk getting yourself into trouble. Not for me."

"Can you crawl?" she said sharply, while trying yet another key.

"Yes," he said slowly.

"That should do," she said, barely above a whisper, "provided that you crawl in a direction away from both the town and the cave."

"They'll see us," he said.

"No," she said. "Right now, they're all very busy working over some of the ones Meg recognized. The room where they do their dirty work is in the other direction, not between this cell and the way out."

She found the key that worked in his door, and opened it. He quickly drank the last of the water in the bucket, and picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He tried twice to stand, but his knees betrayed him each time. He'd gone too long without enough food and water. He was simply too weak. He looked up at her, blushing.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I appreciate your effort, but..."

She pulled at his hand. "Lean on me, then," she said. "If I don't get you out of here, they may kill you. I don't mind them killing the others, but Meg thinks that you aren't part of the problem. I believe her."

He didn't like the idea of anyone being killed, but he was far too weak to do a thing about it anytime soon. Unfortunately, after seeing their handiwork, he thought that the ones who hurt the woman and children had earned their own deaths. He felt guilty for thinking and feeling like that. What would Rem think? However, none of that changed anything. He couldn't do anything about it, not today... or tomorrow. After that, it might be too late.

Besides, he still had a responsibility to deal with Knives. His brother would certainly kill far more than these deputies could, if someone didn't stop him. Sighing inwardly, Vash decided there was nothing to be gained by staying there... and possibly much to lose, pointlessly.

He was still concerned about Meredith's safety, but she had gotten the door open. If anyone came by, they would see her with him. The best thing he could do to protect her, now, was to get far away from this sheriff's office - as fast as possible.

"I'll need my gun," he said, barely above a whisper.

"It will be upstairs," she said, equally softly. "We'll get it on the way out. If we're quick enough, nobody will know anything until you're long gone."

Vash tried again. He discovered that once he was on his feet, if he locked his knees as he walked, he could manage by leaning on her only a little.

As she had predicted, there wasn't anyone between his cell and the upstairs office. Nor was there anyone in that office. She unlocked the gun cabinet and he helped her identify which was his gun. She gave his gun to him, relocked the cabinet, replaced the keys, and then helped him out of the office. Then she took him to a different edge of town from the one where he'd entered.

"If you go this way," she said, pointing east, "there's another town about a day and a half's journey. If you can make it that far, you should be free and clear. Then you can find a hotel, or something like that, where you can rest, eat, and recover."

"Thank you," he said, letting go of her shoulders to lean against a signpost. "You'd best get back to Meg. She will need you near, while she heals."

"I will," she said.

She turned and began walking up the street, but then she stopped and turned back.

"Wait," she said, hurrying back to where he was still standing propped against the signpost. "I don't even know your name."

"I'm just a Samaritan," he said, "who tried to do something good." He shrugged.

She shook her head. "I know that parable," she said. Then she sighed. "Okay, so you don't want to say your name, is that it? Well... I guess I can't blame you for not wanting your name entangled with this mess. All right, Mr. Samaritan, go away and keep your identity a secret. But take care of yourself, you hear?"

"I'll try," he said, and this time he managed a sunnier smile.

"You'd better," she said, and punched his arm. Then she turned and hurried away.

As he caught at the signpost, to avoid losing his balance and falling over, he was briefly amused... and even more grateful... that the feisty small woman had chanced to punch his _left_ arm, instead of his right.

Watching her go away, leaving him alone again, was difficult. He glanced toward the vast, barren, lonely emptiness of the desert and sighed. He looked again toward her receding back, and watched until she was out of sight.

Vash took a deep breath, and experimentally tried standing without leaning on the signpost. He locked his knees again, and began carefully walking into the desert. It only worked for 38 steps. After that, he fell down. Then he was compelled to crawl.

And crawl he did, for approximately five hours. Then, in spite of his best efforts to resist the blackness gathering at the edges of his vision and continue crawling, he collapsed. Unconsciousness claimed him, and he knew no more.

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 **Author's Note** : _Meg would be about 50 in the star year 110 (when the manga begins). She would be about 30 in star year 90 (when Meryl was born). Perhaps, around star year 84-87 or so, a dashing young Bernadelli insurance agent came along and swept young Meg off her feet. Perhaps they moved to somewhere in or near December after they married_... _and, because of that, there was a little more Stryfe on Gunsmoke_... ;P


	3. Unknown

**Note** : _I do not own Trigun / Vash "the Stampede": he belongs to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **"Broken Memories"**

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 **Chapter 3: Unknown**

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Date: _Unknown  
_ Location: _Unknown_

Try as he might, that was the last thing which Vash could remember before he found himself waking up here... wherever "here" was. He'd been crawling away from Tonim Town, and then he'd collapsed in the desert under the combined light of the distant moons.

Going over such things in his mind brought him no nearer to understanding how he found himself wherever he was. It seemed as if he didn't have enough information to draw a conclusion. He opened his eyes, and frowned at the ceiling.

Perhaps he should get up, get his gun, and look out of the window to see if he could recognize anything about the place?

The softly whirring fans abruptly fell silent. Vash tensed reflexively. Any change in the environment might indicate something dangerous in process. He lay silently, alert to learn what might (or might not) be happening.

Almost reflexively, he glanced at the clock. Its display showed "1:22 am."

From beyond the door which did not lead to the bathroom, he could barely distinguish soft sounds suggesting someone walking with bare feet on a carpet. Fabric brushed against fabric. Then metal grated against other metal. A barely-heard sigh. More footsteps, and this time they were coming toward the door of his room.

A soft tap sounded at the door.

"Vash?" said a soft childlike voice, barely above a whisper. "Are you awake?"

Both tap and voice were so soft that they'd be unlikely to wake someone who was asleep. The person on the other side of the door did not appear desirous of waking him, if he were sleeping. So, did he wish to admit that he was awake?

He closed his eyes, tried to relax enough to persuade a casual observer, and carefully modulated his breathing to be deep and even... as if he were truly asleep.

The bottom of the door whispered softly against the carpet as it opened. He could almost feel someone peering into the darkened room. Then he nearly jumped as he felt the emotional echoes of warm affection reaching out to him.

The emotional echoes from a human were rarely even half that strong. A bulb-dwelling sister-Plant might welcome him with similar emotions, though. Why was he imagining such warmth from someone who walked outside of a bulb?

He could hear footsteps in the carpeting, moving toward the window. He sneaked a peek. Again, he needed to suppress a reaction as he watched a slender female gracefully opening the window.

Although she was slender, she had definite (if understated) feminine curves. He didn't know if that meant she was young and still in the process of "rounding out," or if it simply meant that she would always have a slender figure. She wasn't as short as most youthful females, but some girls naturally ran tall. Her back was nearly turned toward him, showing only the curve of her cheek and the silhouette of her pajama-covered body. Her long pale hair and fair skin showed silvery in the dim moonlight.

Her pajamas were consistent with the temperature. Loose-fitting pajama bottoms covered her legs to below her knees, and an almost equally loose-fitting round-necked top with short sleeves was covering her upper body.

Night breezes blew through the window, past her, to reach him. It carried numerous scents. There was white lilac, strong affection, slight concern, early feminine adolescence, and soap. Lesser in strength was a hint of what she'd eaten last, and an even fainter suggestion of feminine pheromones.

He'd learned from prior experiences that, in quantity, feminine pheromones could sometimes make him feel more "drunk" than alcohol ever did.

He clearly recalled the day when he learned that. He had seen an unhappy small child, in a women's clothing store, through a window. He'd only gone into the store to play with the child, and keep him entertained while his mother browsed nearby. Then someone decided to hold up the store. He had been held hostage in a small, enclosed storage room ... for about three hours ... with twenty-three nervous females (some of whom were the staff) ... until he successfully contrived an "accident" which had gotten them all freed.

He would never forget that strange, giddy, disoriented feeling. He'd been mildly dizzy, too, which had unsettled his stomach (not enough to feel in any danger of throwing up, but enough to make him feel quite uncomfortable). He felt uncomfortable just recalling it.

He mentally shook off those memories, and refocused his attention toward the girl standing by the window.

There was no detectable "human" scent coming from her. In fact, there was a scent similar to what he recalled filling his nostrils as he followed Knives through the desert... an indicator of a Plant, instead of an ordinary human.

He could also detect the background scent of the desert, and, if he wasn't mistaken, both grass and the variety of sand powder found near Seeds.

So, if his senses were not deceiving him, he was in a room somewhere in Seeds village... and in the presence of a young, affectionate, free-walking _female Plant_?!

Impossible!

This _must_ be a dream. Either that, or else he was only partially awake and aware of his surroundings, and his subconscious mind was busily filling in extraordinarily unrealistic details. He closed his eyes completely, again, when he saw her begin to turn away from the window back toward the room.

He heard her footsteps come around the bed, and pause beside him.

"Oh Vash," she whispered so softly, and so gently, that it was barely louder than the night breeze coming through the newly opened window.

When he felt her touch his head, though, reflex took over. Almost before he realized it, he had taken hold of her wrists, thrown her across his body to the middle of the bed, and rolled onto his hands and knees over her. The sheet, which had been over his legs, was now across hers. His knees were on either side of her thighs, on top of the sheet and thereby trapping her legs in place. His hands still held her wrists.

He felt her surprise, and then his own when she didn't struggle to get free. His right hand had slid up her wrist to her hand, and found it empty. He quickly checked her other hand, and found it empty, too. He returned his hand to its former position, feeling perplexed.

The dim moonlight shone upon her from her chin down to her toes, leaving her face in shadow. His eyes were adjusted only enough that he could clearly see what was in the moonlight. The soft, thin fabric of her pajama top conformed to her body well enough to inform him at a glance that she carried no weapons.

He was only holding her wrists. His knees didn't quite bump against her thighs (through the sheet and their respective pajamas) as he straddled her. Yet, even so, he was uncomfortably aware of her body and of that small amount of contact. Stupid pheromones! He blinked, and fought to clear his mind.

Chagrinned, he fell to his side and rolled off the bed. He reached out, caught an edge of the sheet, pulled it off her, and then caught her by her waist. He gently lifted her off the bed and set her onto her feet beside it. Her pajama top slipped up slightly during that process, causing the fingertips of his right hand to brush against her skin at her waist.

When she felt his fingertips, she gasped. "You touched my waist," she said, sounding so surprised that it was nearly fear.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You startled me, and I ... overreacted. I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," she said, shaking her head and laying a gentle hand on his right forearm. "I just wondered... I was taught never to let a man touch my body. Touching hands, face or arms was okay, but not my body. But now you have. Does that mean... will I have a baby?"

Stunned by the ignorance implied by her innocent question, he was silent as he briefly considered what to say.

"I promise you, Vash," she said solemnly, "I'll take very good care of your baby, if..."

"That's not going to happen," he said, as gently as he could. He tried to conceal his surprise at her complete ignorance on the subject. "Nobody ever got pregnant from being touched only on her waist."

"Oh," she said, "I... I didn't know."

"You 'didn't know'?" he repeated, still surprised. "Surely you're old enough to know _that_ much."

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "N-my mother said I was not yet ready to learn about it, the last time the subject came up."

"Perhaps you should ask one of the other older women to tell you about it, if your mother won't," he said. "Some men would misunderstand it if you came into their room at night like that. You might find yourself... in a situation that could result in having a baby, whether you wanted that to happen or not. Some men are not gentle about it. You could get hurt, possibly even hurt very badly."

Though older, this child seemed as innocent as Tessla. He found himself wanting to protect her, much like he'd wanted to protect little Meg.

"I'd never go into any _other_ man's room," she said, sounding like that idea was both shocking and unappealing. Then her tone returned to simple confusion, as she added, "You usually don't mind if I come into your room, as long as I don't lie beside you."

"I don't?" he said, feeling thoroughly confused.

Just how well did this girl think she knew him? Why would he 'not mind' if she walked into his bedroom while he slept? Apparently, he had at least protested against her getting into bed with him. That much was consistent, but the rest...

She stood silently, smelling as confused as he felt. He also detected a faint scent indicating that she was exuding more pheromones. He still couldn't see her face, for it was again in shadow.

"I think I'll take a walk outside," he said.

"If that's what you want," she said hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, "right now, that's what I want. Goodnight."

He needed to get away from those pheromones. Outside, there might be enough breezes to blow the blamed things away. Maybe then he could think more clearly.

He walked past her, out the door, and into the next room. The dim moonlight shining through its open window showed a sitting room with upholstered chairs, couches, and thoroughly filled bookcases. As with the walls in the bedroom where he woke, this room also had narrow stained glass windows arranged horizontally near the ceiling.

He walked across that room, and checked near the window. As he had anticipated would be likely, there was a door to the outside there. He opened it and went outside. He walked through a walled-in yard, out of it through a gate, along a walkway, and then down the steps to the grassy area.

He heard footfalls behind him. A quick glance informed him that his suspicion was correct: the girl was following. He redirected his gaze forward, choosing to pay no further heed to the sound nor to what it meant. The girl was, perhaps, curious. Since she was harmless (and probably only a dream, no more substantial than the moonlight), he had no objection if she followed him.

As those thoughts crossed his mind, he realized he hadn't brought his revolver. Oi! Weariness, or else those pheromones (or perhaps both), were interfering with his thinking. Even at Seeds, he usually kept his pistol with him.

Ah, good. The large tree still stood where he remembered it, not far from the center of the grassy area between the ship and the cliffside dwellings. A number of smaller trees were growing off to one side, near one end of the field. Those were new. Odd that he would dream up more trees at Seeds. He returned his attention to the large tree with the hammock. It had been a good place to relax, and sometimes even nap, in the past. He would try to relax there, again, now.

He caught an edge of the hammock, to prevent it from swinging out from under him, as he sat. He seated himself toward the right end of the hammock, nearer to the tree's trunk, where he could swing his long legs around to a comfortable position for stretching out and relaxing. As he sat down, the girl came and stood in front of him - barely an arm's length away. He blinked in surprise as her warm affection wrapped around him again.

He managed to reciprocate somewhat. He felt too bewildered to reciprocate fully. If he knew her, he might. But, as far as he could remember, he'd never met her before.

She held a folded quilt in both arms, hugging it tightly against her upper body.

"I didn't want you to get cold," she said. "It's warm now, but it may become chilly before the suns rise."

"That was thoughtful of you," he said cautiously.

Would there be no end to the surprises from this girl?

"You had a nightmare again, didn't you?" she said with gentle sadness.

"I may have," he said cautiously. It troubled him that he didn't know.

"I think you did," she said. "After a really bad nightmare, especially if it comes when you're really tired, you don't remember me for awhile after you wake up. You can't remember me right now, can you?"

He looked at her, and considered. Her head was bowed so deeply over the quilt that, with the moon shining from behind her, he couldn't see her face. Again.

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I don't recognize you."

"It's okay," she said softly. She sounded only a little sad. "You always remember after a few hours. You might need to spend some of those hours asleep, again, though. You were so very tired yesterday evening..."

"Yes, I probably should sleep," he said.

"Good," she said, a little more cheerfully. "I'll keep you company. You shouldn't be alone, not when you need to deal with bad memories. Even if you don't want to talk, at least you won't be alone."

"That's kind of you," he said, "but ..."

She sat by him as he spoke, and quickly spread the quilt across their laps. She also put her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed to have complete trust and confidence that she would be welcomed. She shared her affection for him, again.

It was nearly overwhelming. The contrast between the bloodthirsty deputies and this innocent, affectionate young woman...

He could not finish what he'd begun to say, a request for her to go away. Under the circumstances, that would be too cruel a thing to do. He didn't want to hurt her, either physically or with words.

Instead, he simply said, "Thank you."

He felt her arms tighten around him, and he put his left arm around her to return the hug. He reminded himself that this was only a dream, as insubstantial as the moonlight - and as fleeting. He must not ease up on controlling his emotions. He must not...

He allowed his thoughts to drift, briefly. He looked at the stars, at Seeds ship and cliffside homes, and at the grassy area with its unfamiliar trees. Then...

"What a beautiful dream this is," he said, mildly surprised to find himself speaking some of his thoughts aloud.

"It _is_ a beautiful night," she said contentedly.

She loosened her hug and turned a little, to better look at the night sky. Then she lay back on the hammock, staring up at the starry sky with her hands behind her head. She had leaned well away from him as she lay backward, for he sat nearer to the tree's trunk and she wanted to look at the sky. Her legs below her knees dangled over the side of the hammock.

The lone moon shone near the horizon, soon to set.

He looked down at her youthful face, which he could finally see. That face was wide at the forehead, and narrow at the chin, and framed by her pale hair. It was a plain yet pleasant face. That detail was almost too realistic. Wouldn't a fantasy female be beautiful in _every_ way? Then she turned her gaze upon him, and again wrapped him in the mental equivalent of an affectionate hug.

To his mind, that was further proof. This was definitely a dream. It had to be. Nobody would ever be so fond of him, not even an innocent half-grown Plant girl.

"God forgive me," he thought aloud, yet barely above a whisper, "this one time, I'm going to enjoy the dream."

 _While this dream lasts, I'm going to enjoy imagining that I'm not completely alone on this world._

He slowly lay down against her side, and rested his head on her shoulder. He put his arm around her, and sighed contentedly. It felt _good_ to have someone living and breathing beside him, especially since she seemed glad of his presence there. He gave her the mental equivalent of a hug, since she was still bestowing her warm affection upon him.

He felt her move her right arm, to begin gently stroking his hair. He felt her left hand on his arm. He smiled, from his heart.

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.


	4. Worries

**Note** : _I do not own Trigun / Vash "the Stampede": he belongs to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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* * *

 _"Broken Memories" is dedicated to:_

 _Everyone who has survived nightmare-inducing circumstances,_

 _And their friends who care enough to provide a safe place when they need one._

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 **"Broken Memories"**

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 **Chapter 4: Worries**

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Date: _Star year 0155 month 6 day 2, approximately 1:38 a.m.  
_ Location: _Seeds Village_

She couldn't help worrying about Vash.

He was hugging her exactly as a frightened child would. She gently stroked his hair around his ears and temples, exactly as she did when comforting a frightened child. Her other hand rested on his forearm, where it was draped across her waist. She thought she felt a little moisture soaking through the fabric of her pajama top, on the shoulder where his head rested.

Usually, Vash concealed his inner pain so thoroughly that it was difficult to detect. Yet it was always present, as an undercurrent, during every waking moment. If she weren't a Plant, she usually wouldn't be able to detect it at all... except during moments like this, when some cruel memory caused part of his pain to escape its leash. During those moments, his cheerful facade was temporarily shattered, and he was vulnerable.

Seeing him like this always brought tears to her eyes. She felt his tension fading away, as he drifted more deeply into sleep, so she let herself cry silently. He wouldn't notice, not now. She kept hearing the ache in his voice, when he'd admitted that he didn't know her.

She could always trust him to be honest, even at times like this... when he didn't know who she was. He might not bring up the subject by asking her about herself. However, if she detected anything in his emotions or behavior that made her wonder, and asked him whether he knew her, Vash would always answer truthfully.

Her thoughts drifted backward several hours, to his arrival yesterday afternoon...

...

Date: _Star year 0155 month 6 day 1, approximately 3:22 p.m._

Location: _Seeds Village_

Vash might be coming! Perhaps not today... well, truthfully, _probably_ not today. But he planned to come soon. She missed him _so_ much!

He'd written Luida that he might visit Seeds some time this month. This was the first day of the month, and she was so distracted by the hope of his coming that she couldn't concentrate at work. So she spoke with her supervisor at the infirmary, and was granted time off to make the house ready. Tomorrow she would be able to concentrate better, simply from knowing the house was ready.

Unless he came. If that happened, she'd have difficulty concentrating on anything else.

Vash didn't always come when he said he might, because circumstances did not always cooperate. She understood and accepted that. Yet she always hoped. She was determined to make the house ready for him, because of that hope. It had been 17 months since his last visit, and she missed him tremendously.

He most frequently arrived late in the day, weary from travel. Sometimes Vash drove himself beyond exhaustion, which always worried her. For the moment, however, she set aside such worries. Perhaps he wasn't driving himself too hard, today. Perhaps he would only be normally weary, when... no, _if_ he came.

The anticipation of possibly getting to see her favorite person in the universe was enough to lift her spirits.

Humming a happy tune, she prepared bread dough. While it was rising, she mixed up some salmon paste, because it was Vash's favorite sandwich filling. She also took a jar of dill pickles out of the pantry, and put it into the refrigerator. She kneaded the bread dough, put it into pans, and let it begin rising the second time.

After that, she began to freshen up the house. She wanted everything to be as nearly perfect as possible.

Naturally, she began in Vash's room. She continued humming as she took down the curtains and gathered the bedding. While they were in the washing machine, she cleaned and dusted his room. When the textiles were clean, she hung them out to dry and put the bread in the oven. She poured cider from the barrel in the pantry into a pitcher, and put that pitcher of cider into the refrigerator.

She checked on the drying textiles, and wasn't surprised to find them dry. The combination of the desert air and summer temperatures* had dried them swiftly. She took them back to his room and re-hung the curtains. Checking the clock on his nightstand, she saw that it was time to take the bread out of the oven. She did, and then she returned. She began to put the freshly laundered linens back onto his bed. She had gotten as far as putting the clean mattress sheet on and reaching for the top sheet, when she heard a knock at the front door.

Her heart skipped a beat. Had something happened at the infirmary, which required her presence? She was always "on call," so any knock at the door might mean someone needed help.

Glancing out the window, she saw that it had grown so late in the afternoon that it was nearly evening. She hurried to the door, wiping sweat from her face and brushing dust and flour off her clothes. She devoutly hoped that nothing was seriously wrong. She opened the door, and gasped.

To her surprise and delight, she found a very dusty Vash standing on the doorstep. His bag was resting on the ground against the outer wall of the house.

"Vash!" she said, smiling widely, "It's _so_ good to see you! I've missed you..."

He smiled and opened his arms as soon as he saw her. She accepted his nonverbal invitation without hesitation, and hugged him tightly.

"...so _very_ much," she finished saying, while hugging him.

As usual, she hugged him by reaching under his right arm and resting her head on his shoulder as she leaned against his side. She stretched her neck just a little, to press her nose against his neck and inhale his scent. She felt his breathing and heartbeat as she hugged him.

Knowing that Vash was alive and well, from direct observation with most of her senses, always made her happy. When he was nearby, she felt as if she were somehow more "alive" than usual... even though that idea made no sense. Vash was her favorite person in the universe - and the one dearest to her, since her adopted human mother had died. More than anything else, she loved to see him and to be near him.

"It's good to see you, Shyla," he said softly, as he hugged her and patted her head. "I've missed you, too."

"I haven't quite finished getting your room ready," she said guiltily, thinking that she ought to have begun sooner by taking yesterday off from work instead of waiting until this afternoon. "I was just changing the bed..."

They both let go, ending the hug, while she was speaking.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Vash said fondly, as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. His voice turned more light-hearted, a sound she knew meant he was teasing. "It will be more comfortable than the desert sands, even if it's not quite up to your high standards of perfection."

Even though he was being silly, his words were still a compliment. She blushed slightly, embarrassed by his praise.

He took half a step toward the open doorway, and stumbled. She caught his elbow, and steadied him. He smiled a weary and mildly embarrassed half-grin at her as he moved into the house.

That stumble suggested that he might have pushed himself too hard, again.

They both went inside, and she closed the door behind them. He began moving through the sitting area toward his room. She walked beside him.

"I'll get you something to eat," she said. "I have salmon paste, dill pickles, fresh bread, and cider."

He smiled again. "You're spoiling me," he said fondly.

"I like taking care of you," she said, smiling. Then she sobered. "It looks like someone needs to."

"I'm only tired," he said softly, still smiling.

She looked at him reproachfully, and his smile grew wider.

"I was eager to get here," he said, as his smile softened, "so maybe I didn't sleep as much as I should have, during the last few days. I might have skipped a meal or two, also."

Seeing her expression, he reached out and mussed her hair. "Don't worry, though, Shyla," he said. "I'll catch up while I'm here. But first, I need to wash up."

She gave him a fond look, and deliberately shared her affection for him, as she removed his hand from her hair.

"I'll make up a few sandwiches and pour some cider, then," she said. "I'm sorry that I don't have any doughnuts ready, or a better evening meal. I hadn't expected that I would get to see you again quite so soon."

"Sandwiches and cider will be just fine," he called over his shoulder, as he walked into his room.

Shyla found herself frowning. She sensed that he was extremely weary, more than usual even for him. It showed in his eyes, and in the slight slouch to his shoulders. It showed when they stopped hugging, and he stumbled. It showed in how stiffly and slowly he walked to his room, entirely lacking his usual athletic grace. In her opinion, Vash pushed himself far too hard, and he did it much too often. He was so focused on protecting (and taking care of) others that he often forgot to take adequate care of himself.

She felt her expression soften as she looked toward his still-open doorway. That intrinsic selflessness was part of what made Vash so special, and so dear.

She hurried to the other side of the sitting area, through her room and into her bathroom. She took off her apron and dirty shirt, and quickly washed up and smoothed her hair where he'd meddled with it. Then she put on a clean sleeveless shirt. Thanks to the apron, her knee-length shorts were in reasonable condition.

She went to the control panel and turned on the air conditioning, choosing a low setting. The day was uncomfortably warm, but she didn't want him to grow too chilled after his long walk through the desert. The thick walls of her cliffside home were good insulation, but they didn't keep enough of the summer heat out to make it truly comfortable (at least not after this many hot days, because the heat gradually soaked into the walls). To spare her sister-Plants who lived in their orbs inside the bulbs in the ship, she seldom turned on either heat or air conditioning, unless temperatures became truly extreme. At least, not when she was home alone. However, for Vash... she knew the orb-sisters wouldn't mind. They loved him as much as she did.

After that, she returned to the kitchen and put on a clean apron. She was humming happily again. She would see to it that he rested and ate properly, and recovered, while he was here. She quickly and efficiently assembled sandwiches, cut them into smaller pieces, and then arranged them on a decorative plate. It was nearly time for dinner, so she made enough for both of them. She also took two glasses from the cupboard, and poured cider into them. After returning the pitcher of cider to the refrigerator, she took the sandwich plate and both glasses of cider to Vash's room.

He'd left his bedroom door wide open. She walked in and put the plate of sandwiches and both of the cider glasses on the nightstand beside his bed. She noticed that the bathroom door was nearly closed; it was barely open enough to be unlatched.

Seeing that inspired her to smile again. When Vash was visiting, she never latched a door between them, either.

She walked to the bench under the window, planning to take the top sheet, blankets, and quilt off of it, and then spread them over the bed. However, she had only picked up the top sheet when he came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his hair.

He'd changed from his dusty clothes into a scoop-necked sleeveless top, and lightweight pants with a drawstring waist. She'd seen him wear those clothes previously. He might wear them when it was a very warm day. Other times, he might wear them to sleep in. The day was easily warm enough for him to want a sleeveless top, if he wasn't wearing his Seeds-made body-armor that helped to protect him from both heat and cold.

She also wore a sleeveless top, because of the heat.

"I see that dinner is ready," he said, smiling. "It looks and smells good, as usual."

"I try to do well, for you," she said softly, blushing slightly as she smiled in return.

"You're too hard on yourself," he said fondly.

She said nothing, though thoughts of soot-blackened pots and kettles each accusing the other of being sootier passed through her mind.

Vash sat on his bed, and she sat beside him. He passed her a sandwich and a glass of cider, and then took one of each for himself. They ate in quiet companionship.

She left to refill his glass, and then returned to find him leaning back on the bed looking sleepy. He sat up quickly, looking embarrassed, when he saw her.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "How did you know I'd still be thirsty?"

"I thought you might be," she said fondly, as he drank the cider. "Now that we've finished eating, I'll wash the dishes. I'll be back shortly."

"No need to hurry," he said. "Since I managed to get here earlier than I'd originally planned, I might stay all week."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" she said enthusiastically. "I like it best when you're here. The longer you stay, the better I'll like it."

"Aw, man," he said, "that's too much! You'll make my head swell so big that my sunglasses won't fit anymore. Then I could go blind from the suns' glare!"

She laughed at his joke, and then gestured for him to give her the glass he'd just emptied. He gave it to her. He also pulled the towel from his shoulders, and yawned.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said. "Then you can tell me all about your journeys since your last visit. Or we can do whatever else you'd like to do."

"Sure," he said.

When she returned after washing the dishes, however, she found him asleep. He had nodded off in an awkward position, which would be likely to give him muscle cramps. So she took his damp towel away, and gently adjusted his position so he could rest more comfortably. After that, she spread the top sheet over the bed and over him. She also went into his bathroom and gathered his dusty clothes.

She knew that Vash was accustomed to doing his own chores. If she wanted to do something for him, she had to act quickly. Since he fell asleep before tending his laundry, it gave her an opportunity to do a little more "taking care of him." She grinned and hummed softly as she took his dirty clothes to the laundry room and washed them.

After hanging his freshly laundered clothing out to dry, she returned to his door and peered in to check on him. He was still asleep. So she quietly entered and took his blankets and quilt, and then carried them across the sitting room to her own room.

She spread his bedclothes over her own bed, and then folded them away from the equivalent area on her own bed that matched the part of his bed where he slept. Then she folded his blankets and quilt again, and again. Finally, she pulled them off her bed so that she could carry them to his.

Working quietly, she carefully unfolded them onto his bed, and then arranged the blankets and quilt so that he could pull one or more of them across himself if he grew too cool. It was unlikely, with a day so warm, that he would want them anytime soon. However, she knew that it would grow cooler at night. She always tried to provide everything he might need or want during any of his visits, and this was simply one opportunity to do so.

She felt he deserved more than that - much more - but it was all she knew how to do. It was probably all he would permit her to do, anyway. She stood gazing at him fondly as he slept, drinking in the sight of him, and enjoying having him near.

She saw him frown and tense, without waking up. She walked softly over to him and gently stroked his shoulder-length black hair, which was still damp from its recent washing. He relaxed almost immediately. She continued smoothing his hair long enough to be convinced that he seemed likely to keep sleeping peacefully and relaxed, instead of tensing again. Then she walked away and pulled the door nearly shut behind her as she left his room. Thus, any noise she made would be less likely to disturb him.

After that, she mixed up doughnut dough and set it aside to rise overnight. She quietly cleaned all potential imperfections it in the rest of the house. Then she did whatever preparations could be done ahead for Vash's favorite foods. She wanted them all to be as nearly "ready to cook" as possible, both to limit preparation times later, and to make it easy for him if he awoke hungry while she was asleep. She also brought in his clean clothes from the clothesline, and folded them.

She opened his door just enough to peer inside, as the suns were setting. Vash was still sleeping. The sunset colors washed across the room, emphasizing the golden tones in the pale golden-beige walls. The band of colored light from the stained glass windows added to that effect.

Since he'd fallen asleep, Vash's emotional echoes had been what she normally felt when he was asleep and dreaming. She went in quietly and placed the folded laundry on the dresser. Satisfied that she had done all for him, which she currently could, she returned to her own room.

Just before she was ready to go to sleep herself, however, his emotional echoes went completely silent. That was sufficiently unusual that she left her own bed and walked across the sitting room to peer into his room again. She found him frowning again, with his mouth moving and his body tense. His arms were also moving, as if he were struggling. Again, she moved to stand beside his bed. She stroked his hair until he seemed to relax.

Shyla sighed. She wanted to lie down beside him, and hug him at least until she was convinced that his nightmares had ended and he could again sleep peacefully. Unfortunately, he had previously instructed her that she was not to do this. He had been moderately stern about it, too, which was unusual for him when talking with her.

He had claimed he was concerned about harming her, if he awoke from a nightmare and didn't know her. However, she knew that wasn't the only reason. He was also worried about something to do with reproduction, even though he didn't want to say so. She remembered how her human mother had insisted that only Vash would know when she was ready to learn about "how to make a baby." So, when studying, she had worked hard to learn as much of everything _else_ as she possibly could.

Since Vash brought her to Seeds, decades ago, she had learned _so_ many things! She'd learned things she had not previously imagined about math, science, literature, botany, history, anatomy, and a great deal about medical science... everything except human / Plant biology where it applied to reproduction. She often wondered when she would be ready to learn about "making babies," and why her mother had thought that only Vash could teach her.

As she was learning more about anatomy and other medical sciences, it was growing increasingly difficult to avoid the subject of making babies (which was referenced by a list of labels that seemed to grow longer nearly every week).

She had watched him sleep for a time, as she pondered those things. Eventually, she returned to her own room.

...

Date: _Star year 0155 month 6 day 2, approximately 1:43 a.m._

Location: _Seeds Village_

Shyla continued gently stroking Vash's hair, as she remembered and thought about all that had happened since he arrived yesterday. She'd been restless, dozing more than sleeping, from worrying about him. Eventually, knowing it would be cooler outside, she'd gotten up to open the windows and turn off the air-conditioning.

Even though he hadn't known her, he hadn't hurt her. She had expected that, from knowing him. He wasn't the type of person who would hurt another needlessly.

Tonight was the first time when Vash had said that she should be "old enough to know" about reproductive activities. He didn't remember her when he said it, so she'd need to inquire again after his memories returned.

It would be a relief to finally know about those things, so that she wouldn't need to keep avoiding all references to them. She had been resisting her own curiosity on the subject, on and off, ever since Vash had brought her to live at Seeds.

Feeling a cooler breeze, she carefully adjusted the quilt to better cover both of them without waking him. She turned slightly toward him, and hugged him, before returning to her original position.

At least she didn't have to worry about a baby tonight. Vash had told her that she couldn't get pregnant from the manner in which he'd touched her.

More importantly, he was allowing her to be beside him while he slept. The one time she had fallen asleep beside him, while hugging him after he had a nightmare, he'd slept peacefully for the rest of the night. She hoped her presence would have the same effect, again.

She sighed contentedly, and looked at the stars. Her thoughts were mostly about her fondness and admiration for the man beside her.

Eventually, she also fell asleep. Her fingers in his hair stilled.

Shyla fell so soundly asleep that she didn't notice when Vash began to tense again.

.

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 **Author's note** : _In manga, near the end, it indicates that Knives caused trouble in all the cities in the southern hemisphere. Since that trouble didn't touch Seeds (this happened about a year after the attack of the Gung-Ho Guns), I imagine that Seeds may have been located slightly north of the equator. If so, then it would be summer weather during June there... and very hot during the summer._

 _Fun fact: Yellow or amber lenses cut glare, without being so dark that they cause the pupils to dilate. That might be the reason why Vash's sunglasses had amber lenses._


	5. A New Day

**Note** : _I do not own Trigun / Vash "the Stampede" or Luida of Seeds: they belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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* * *

 _"Broken Memories" is dedicated to:_

 _Everyone who has survived nightmare-inducing circumstances,_

 _And their friends who care enough to provide a safe place when they need one._

* * *

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 **"Broken Memories"**

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 **Chapter 5: A New Day**

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Date: _Unknown  
_ Location: _Seeds Village_

Vash struggled to crawl, as the unfeeling sands slipped about beneath his hands and knees, and then out from under his forearms and knees. He had to get far enough away from that town to be unnoticed by any of its citizens when daylight arrived. He was so tired... his arms wobbled, and he fell flat on his face.

He threw his arms wide, embracing the sands and feeling strangely as if he were embracing the whole planet and all the innocent people on it, like Meredith and little Meg. The coolness of the night, and the fading heat from the sands, was a welcome relief. Perhaps he should rest, while he could. The next day would come soon enough. He half-crawled, half-dragged himself between two largish dunes, where he should be in the shade after the suns rose.

He finally allowed unconsciousness to claim him.

He awoke as a few brilliant rays from the first sun to peek over the horizon shone into his eyes. He immediately closed his eyes again. During the space of about two heartbeats, he took a quick inventory of his surroundings while his eyes remained tightly shut.

He could feel the heat of the sun as it shone full upon his face. He felt a cool breeze caressing his face and ruffling his hair. He felt the warmth of fabric over and around his body. The bed, and the pillow he was hugging, both felt a little unusual.

Bed? Yes, it had to be. The manner in which it yielded against his body was different from the sands anywhere on the desert. Even stranger, his legs below his knees were dangling over the side of it. Something was tickling against his bare feet.

He could smell grass and sand powder, suggesting he was either in or else very near to Seeds Village. There must be a window open, for him to smell both scents so strongly. He also smelled lilacs, which made no sense. There was also a scent of youth and...

Wait a minute! That's a heartbeat and breathing... this wasn't a pillow! Someone else was lying in the same bed!

He pulled away, stood, and flung the intruder off his bed. He reflexively reached for his revolver. Neither his pistol nor its holster were in their usual places on his right thigh. He turned his face away from the rising suns, just enough to be reasonably certain that he wouldn't be blinded by them. As he opened his eyes, still moving from a combination of adrenaline and reflex, he worked his left arm in the manner that caused the gun concealed in the prosthetic to emerge. He held the trigger-guard, and looked toward the person who'd just been flung onto the ground.

He blinked a few times, as his eyes and mind adjusted to the sights which met his eyes.

A girl, probably in her early to middle teens, was sitting on the ground looking up at him with wide-eyed surprise.

"Vash?" she said uncertainly, "Do you _still_ not recognize me?"

She didn't move physically, but emotionally she reached out to him with affection.

In so doing, she seemed like a Plant. He reciprocated with roughly the equivalent of a gentle mental pat on the head. It was the best he could manage at the moment, because her offer of affection had taken him so much by surprise.

As she suggested, he did not recognize her. He could not reciprocate equally. Oh, he cared for her as a person, as he did with everyone. However, the amount of affection she shared exceeded what he felt for casual acquaintances. He felt heat in his cheeks as he put away his arm-gun.

Whoever this child was, she was clearly no threat to him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

As she sat there looking up at him, resting her hands behind her with her legs acutely bent in front of her, he noticed that the soft fabric of her pajama pants had slid up her legs to her hips. One side of her pajama top was in danger of slipping off its shoulder. The kid was slender without being scrawny, and her feminine curves were coming in nicely. There was something graceful about the shape of her body, quite unlike the lankiness of his. Her legs, and even her bare feet, were also showing signs of taking on aesthetically appealing shapes.

Why was he noticing her body in such detail? That wasn't how he usually thought about people...

He felt a little dizzy. He shook his head, to clear it, and glanced down at himself.

He saw his sleeveless top and lightweight pajama bottoms. A quilt, which had probably covered both of them while they slept, lay in a crumpled heap on the grass by his feet.

He saw strands of black hair on his shoulder, and felt his stomach lurch. How much of his hair had gone black? He looked toward her again, wondering what she knew or understood about his hair.

Perhaps he was in a dream that came because he was dying.

The girl continued sitting on the grass in front of him, looking as if she were stunned. Tears began to well up in her pale grey-green eyes. He could feel that she was hurting emotionally, as she looked up at him with those wounded eyes.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, more gently.

He caught the edge of the hammock, and then sat on it. He rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his palms. He closed his eyes, and began to search his mind for any pertinent memories.

Slowly, the events of the prior night began to return to his mind. He must have been mistaken... the girl, and being at Seeds village, those things must be what were current and real. The memories that had felt so recent, both last night and this morning, must be only memories.

She seemed familiar. Was that sense of familiarity only from last night, or was he even slightly beginning to recall knowing her?

Believing she was naught but a dream, he'd fallen asleep yesternight with his head on her shoulder and his arm around her. He must have gotten a nose-full of her pheromones. That would explain his mild dizziness, his disorientation, and also his unusual inclination to notice her body. As those pheromones cleared, so would his mind.

Perhaps if he weren't so weary, the memories he needed would not be eluding his grasp so effectively.

"How long have I been here, at Seeds?" he asked.

"You arrived yesterday evening," she said softly.

"I can't remember," he admitted.

"I've asked for one of your older friends to come," she said. "Maybe you'll remember her, and she can help you to remember more."

His head snapped up and he looked at her closely. "How?"

"I'm a Plant, too, Vash," she said softly, while nervously pulling her pajama pantslegs over her knees. She shifted her position to a more ladylike pose, but remained sitting on the ground. "I used my mind. Lumia is half-Plant, and she was just waking up when I asked. She is bringing her mother here."

"I... see," he said. "Is her mother the Plant or the human?"

"She's human," the girl said.

The girl might be nearer to 40 than 14, if she was a Plant. If he recalled correctly, that was roughly how his own body had matured.

He again closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his palms.

He willed himself to relax, focusing on one muscle at a time, until he had at least overcome his excess physical tension. Shortly thereafter, he heard footsteps approaching.

He raised his head, and saw an aging woman walking toward him. She leaned on a cane as she walked. She was accompanied by a young woman who appeared to be only slightly older than a girl herself. The two approaching women were followed by two tall, burly individuals who appeared both well armed and, from the manner in which they moved, reasonably capable of hand-to-hand combat if a need should arise.

The young woman reached out to him with affection, as the younger-appearing girl had done. He reciprocated to this one as he had to the other, too perplexed to do more. This made her fair complexion go pale. She hurried to kneel by the side of her friend, who still sat on the grass. Both young women were blonde, though the newcomer's hair was a deeper shade of gold than that of the first.

The older woman walked more slowly, until she was standing beside the girls.

"Vash," she said gently, "I'm told that your memory is trapped at some point in the past. May I ask what year you think it should be, based upon your most recent memories?"

"By the local calendar, it should be star year 64," he said, "or roughly 2511 by Earth's last known calendar."

She looked sad. "That was before my time," she said, "though perhaps you might recall my parents or my uncle."

She gave him their names and began to describe them. As he looked at her in the early morning light, he could see the family resemblance.

Then he recalled her mother, pregnant and excited about the coming family member. He thought about it a bit more, and recalled hugging a weeping three-year-old girl. He also remembered her kinsman sadly saying that her mother had died from complications arising during a premature childbirth, in spite of all that the Seeds doctors could do. The newborn boy had also died. He recalled a small tear-stained face, looking up at him, her eyes pleading for answers. He looked at the aging woman standing in front of him, saw the shape of her face and eyes, and thought she might be the same person.

"Luida?" he said softly.

"Yes," she said, smiling in an encouraging manner, "I am Luida."

"If you don't mind my asking," Vash began, a little hesitantly, "how..."

"I am currently sixty-nine years old," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. She must have anticipated his question.

"Sixty-nine?" he repeated, surprised. He quickly turned it into a moderately complimentary joke. "But you don't look a day over fifty-three!"

Luida smiled with genuine humor. "And you, my friend," she said fondly, "don't look a day older than the pictures from when you were 102. However, you're nearer to completing your second century than your first."

"And the actual date is...?" he asked softly

"It's the Star Year 155, sixth month, second day," she said, "or about 2602 by the last known Earth calendar. We suspect they may have quarantined us."

That meant 91 years had passed since his last clear and complete memory.

"I'm sorry," he said ... again. "Most of it still isn't coming back to me. I can't even recall whom you married. Does your daughter resemble you or her father?"

"That depends upon whom you ask," Luida said, smiling.

"Don't worry, Vash," said the girl he'd met last night, and with whom he'd shared the hammock. "If a bad memory replays as a nightmare, and you forget everything after, it's only temporary. If you're extremely tired, like you were when you arrived yesterday, it may take a few hours. But you will remember everything again."

"She's Shyla," Luida said helpfully, "and my eldest daughter, here, is Lumia. My other daughter is Larissa. My youngest is not an early-riser, so she's still asleep at home."

"Nice to meet all of you... again," he said, nodding at each politely although still feeling bewildered. He looked toward Luida again. "Why would we be quarantined by Earth?"

"Knives," Luida said gently. "Although you defeated him, he caused some trouble first."

"I defeated Knives?" Vash said, feeling even more confused. "Did he survive, too?"

"Nobody knows," she said softly. "After that battle, you spent two decades in hiding. Most of that time, you were with Shyla and her human mother. Since then, during the last twenty years, you've been out searching for Knives. As far as I know, you hadn't found any sign of him. Yet."

Luida slowly approached him. When she was near, she gently took the ends of some of his shoulder-length hair into her hand. "If your brother still lives," she said softly, "his hair is also black. I know this because you told me."

"I really defeated Knives?" Vash said, very softly. He looked up at Luida's face, scarcely daring to believe what she'd said... scarcely daring to hope it might be true.

"Yes, Vash," she said gently. "You defeated him. It nearly cost your life, and, for several months, we feared it had. We're very grateful..." her voice broke, and she paused briefly to regain some of her composure before finishing her sentence with, " _very_ grateful that you are still alive."

Everyone was silent long enough for the pause to begin feeling awkward.

"Maybe we should go to Shyla's and eat some breakfast," Lumia suggested. "At least, I usually think better with a full stomach than with an empty one."

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Luida said, looking fondly toward her daughter. Then she turned her face back toward Vash. "What do you think? Shyla probably has doughnut dough rising, ready to fry..."

"Doughnuts?" he said, surprised.

These unfamiliar and half-familiar people knew about his fondness for doughnuts. They even wished to make some for him and even share them with him.

"Doughnuts always sound like a good idea," he said, smiling.

"Let's do that, then," Luida said.

They returned to Shyla's house, and he was able to see fully by daylight what had only been dimly visible in the light of a lesser moon. The place was small, but comfortable. The narrow band of stained glass windows running parallel with the ceiling, on most walls, helped to make the small dwelling feel light and airy. This was mildly impressive, since it only had external windows on one wall.

Vash ate slowly, listening to the conversations surrounding him but not participating. He didn't want to embarrass them, or himself, by saying things that proved he still didn't remember.

In time, the tasty but awkward meal ended.

Luida, and her daughters and bodyguards, helped to clean up and wash the dishes after breakfast. They refused to permit either Vash or Shyla to participate in cleaning up. Then everyone bid each other farewell, and everyone except Shyla left.

"I usually do some exercises in the morning," Vash said hesitantly.

"I know," Shyla said fondly. "You taught them to me, too. Go ahead. I'll exercise in my room, wash up, and then do some mending. Whenever you're ready to do something else, just let me know. Mending is endless... it can always wait."

She smiled bashfully and then went to her room.

He returned to the room where he'd awakened, his only truly recent memory. He drove himself through his exercise routine, working harder at it than usual. It helped to clear his mind some, but not enough.

He stood by the still-open window, and stared out past the walled yard to where the ship hovered over the sand powder ocean. Memories were beginning to return, but too slowly and with too many gaps for his comfort.

The most vivid remained the ones from 91 years ago. At least he recalled how he had remained resting between those two dunes for a few days, living off the water and rations in his bag. He'd needed to change his bandages regularly. He stayed there until his injuries stopped making blood soak through the bandages. Then he had slowly and carefully walked to the other town. He chose to circle it from a distance, and go into it from a different direction. He had not wanted to advertise that he'd come from Tonim.

He went into the restroom and scrubbed himself clean. After that, he changed and flopped on the bed.

Shyla ... the girl's name still felt unfamiliar. She said that if he was weary, it might take a few hours for his memories to return. He could feel weariness enfolding him, weighing him down. The food, exercise and washing hadn't cured it enough.

The combination of summer heat and exhaustion must have been enough like how he'd felt after leaving Tonim to trigger those memories.

He lay quietly on the bed he'd abandoned the prior night, and closed his eyes.

By focusing on the idea of Luida, he remembered her as a girl of approximately fourteen. She was following him as he was leaving Seeds. Knives had caused trouble, killing 40 of Seeds' people. He was leaving to do something about that, to protect those peaceful villagers who had no other effective defense against his brother.

Others had already spoken their farewells, on the desert-side platform belonging to the cable-car-ferry. Most of the others were returning to Seeds Village, with as many in each gondola as could comfortably fit.

Young Luida, however, had followed him out into the desert. She continued following him, for some distance. He'd been concerned that he might have to turn back, to return her to Seeds. However, just before he would have turned around, she had stopped. The wind had carried the scents of her lonely longing, and of her affectionate concern for him, across the sands to his nostrils.

He had detected both of those emotional scents from Luida, again, this morning.

Thinking further, he recalled being in an infirmary. At that time, his body ached from exhaustion and injuries. Luida, as a youthful adult, was telling him that something wasn't his fault, and he shouldn't say such things. She reminded him that he was like family to everyone at Seeds.

There had been a surplus of warmth in her eyes, which he'd seen again this morning.

That, too, seemed more like a dream than not. The idea that anyone could care so much about him seemed unreal. It was not something he'd seen in anyone's eyes since Rem.

Luida, her daughters, and Shyla were all very fond of him, he realized as he slowly began to remember more. It was almost an embarrassment of riches.

He was relieved and thankful that this life to which he'd awakened was _not_ a dream, even if it seemed like one. It was better than he had ever dared to imagine or hope might come to him. He had friends, including a free-walking Plant friend... even if she was still a child. She wouldn't die as soon as a human would. He could enjoy her friendship for centuries, instead of only decades.

He smiled and closed his eyes, unafraid of any cruel memories which might plague him.

He wasn't alone, not anymore.


End file.
